


against all odds (take a look at me now)

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: short Kastle blurbs that are sorta connected but not reallyBasically little things about their relationship (because they're together in a romantic capacity in this story) from Karen's perspective"They like different detergents."





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Yes i stole my title from Phil Collins. 
> 
> I own nothing
> 
> Please read and review 
> 
> i'm open to requests, but be warned, if they don't fit the theme/style i won't put it in this story

He takes his coffee black, and she takes hers with cream.

 

She never kept coffee around before, since she was a coffee-once-a-day-on-the-way-to-work kind of girl, and even then at least half of her twelve ounce cup would end up in the trash after she let it get cold.

           

Frank’s a coffee all day, all night kind of guy. Calls frappuccinos blasphemy (and then she accused him of indirectly saying black coffee is God, which happens to be blasphemous, and then he told her to look up the definition of blasphemy, and she was forced to concede that according to Merriam-Webster, blasphemy is not limited to disrespecting a deity but also includes things held sacred and dear) (Frank _loves_ to drag the dictionary into their little arguments).

         

So now she keeps coffee beans and a little carton of half-and-half, and doesn't make comments on his choice of vocabulary unless she's _really_ sure of all possible definitions.

-end-


	2. Detergent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

           

They like different detergents.

             

Karen always bought lavender, until the big, bad Punisher came along and informed her that artificial lavender literally smells like shit, and that she’d be much better off using a scent whose title involves either spring or the ocean.  

           

After she recovered from her initial disbelief that Frank Castle actually bothers with detergent preferences, she invested in some ‘fresh ocean’ detergent (which to her is utterly stupid, because the ocean smells like salt and piss, and specifying that it’s fresh doesn’t have much of an effect).

           

An opportunity for revenge came in the form of a detergent called ‘spring lavender’, a name that conveniently fits Frank’s idea of both “her best bet” and “flowery shit”. She hasn’t actually _used_ her revenge yet – Frank’s had a rough few months, and she figures their sheets ( _their sheets,_ she mentally repeats, because it never gets old) can have a soapy scent that some moron in the detergent business likens to the smell of the ocean if that’s what he wants. But the ace is still up her metaphorical sleeve, tucked away in her literal laundry closet behind her abundance of stain removers.

          

She won’t admit it, not after all the times she’s passionately defended lavender as the ultimate scent for anything (detergent, hand soap, lotion, candles, bubble bath, etc.), but she’s starting to like his ocean stuff best.  

-end-


	3. PDA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank doesn't like PDA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I'm noticing that my portrayal of Frank varies from the typical fanfic style. I hope you peeps like non-cuddly Frank :) 
> 
> Please reviewwww

Frank doesn’t like PDA.

It’s not exactly unexpected, since even in private he’s not particularly cuddly (he likes kissing and sex a lot more than hand-holding and hugging, and she’s not gonna complain). But somewhere along the line she’d subconsciously pegged him as the kind of man who would mark his territory – show all the eligible (and ineligible) bachelors that Karen Page is taken.

But he doesn’t.

When they’re out, he doesn’t hold her hand or peck her lips every so often, or rest his hand on her backside (she’s yet to find a term for rear end that sounds right – ass strikes her as a little too crude, bottom is too much like a conservative mom, and backside technically refers to her entire back side) (she’s a writer, and selecting her mental vernacular is a chore).

She tries to initiate. Slips her hand into his while they’re walking through Manhattan, notes the way he stares down at their interlocked fingers with a look akin to confusion. It lasts all of thirty seconds before he finds an excuse to release her hand (like he really, really needs to use his right hand to point at a coffee shop they ought to try sometime).

 

He makes it up to her.

The second her apartment door shuts behind them, he’s pushing her against the wall. His mouth is indecisive, sucking at her lower lip, biting at her neck, licking her collar bone. His hands are deliberate, one pressing firmly against the small of her back, the other gripping the back of her thigh. The noises he makes are fucking sinful.

He makes it up to her for _hours_.

 

Later (much later) she asks him about his aversion to PDA. He says he just doesn’t like it. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t have some tragic reason for it.

She can live with that. As long as he keeps making it up to her when they get home, she can live with that.


End file.
